


She's A False Alarm

by vaermina



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, protagonist has no relation to shaun, somewhat canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8514088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaermina/pseuds/vaermina
Summary: shenanigans with my fallout 4 oc and the beloved ghoul mayor hancock!!!! i'm really posting this because i want criticism, feedback, etc from unbiased sources. i'm trying to grow as an author and staying within my comfort bubble won't allow me to properly grow. idk if i will continue updating it, but i have a few chapters on standby if it's well-received??? i really would like if anyone could give me legitimate feedback whether or not you like it, or even if you aren't an author yourself. i don't care; i'll accept all criticism!!





	

“Listen, --” Verona had stuck an index finger in the face, or hovering spherical mass of rusted metal, of Whitechapel Charlie. He had insisted this top-secret mission he was giving only to the most physically capable and least morally-inclined individual was far too strenuous for a fresh-faced vault dweller. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about. Didn’t your mayor or theater-major-gone-ghoul inform you of the fate of our dear old Finn?” Verona took a confident drag of a cigarette and leaned back away from the bar with her arms crossed; but Charlie, by the offhand negative he hummed at her, gave clear indication their mayor was not of the gossiping type. 

“Already showin’ off to my people what I couldn’t scrub off of my streets?” A boisterous exclamation from a two-packs-a-day tone drew Verona from her alcohol-induced cockiness. Twisting around in her seat, which overflowed with stuffing ripped out of taught leather from many a bar fight taken place in the dingy pub, she first saw the ridiculous red duster, flowing evenly just above the grimy floors behind a pair of self-assured boots. They were making a swanky bee-line to where she sat, and Verona abruptly became aware of how loud she had been chatting with Charlie. “Now, I know I told ya, doll; that don’t get you nowhere in Goodneighbor. In fact,” Mayor Hancock had brought himself up to the space in between Verona’s seat and the empty one adjacent, simply holding up two fingers to Charlie and leaning into the bar by propping himself on folded arms; he had lit up a cigarette in his brief pause, but continued as the smoke joined the other’s, “it’ll get ya killed.” He slammed a double shot of whiskey and slid Verona the other glass. “Cheers.”

____________

Verona never prided herself in her patience, but the bald man blocking her way into the mysterious town of Goodneighbor was making her trigger finger itch. He seemed to be making a claim on the town entrance to intimidate drifters into handing him a few caps. I was hoping bullies died with the bombs. How naive. Her hand nonchalantly slid to her waist, only a few inches above her holster. Wouldn’t take a whole lot of time to put him down, maybe he had a couple Stimpaks… Verona shook her head in clarity. It was more likely he had Med-X or fucking Psycho, something with a much higher addictive quality, for she figured the hefty majority of Goodneighbor’s residents had a chem addiction or at least a raider hideout a few miles down the road. Verona hadn’t noticed the slimeball was actually still trying to shake her down.

“I said, ya can’t go walkin’ around Goodneighbor without insurance,” the man repeated. “How about ya hand over what ya got in your pockets, or accidents might start happening?” A dark glint had manifested in the man’s bloodshot eyes as he waited for the dread of helplessness to force this unsuspecting scavver to hand over, what? A few bobby pins and a pipe pistol? Verona snorted, and the man’s eyebrows shot up in momentary surprise before he rolled his shoulders, seriously ready to commit a hit-and-run. And shit, the other residents of Goodneighbor had shown their support simply by giving nary a glance their way as this stranger hooked a knife out of a pocket in his leather jacket and would have most definitely stabbed this strange lady for a few fucking caps if he would have been quicker.

Verona had only needed to slide to the right as he struck by her left. He stumbled, understandably, as many people had underestimated Verona’s agility before, and the poor man didn’t even get to recover before she had her rifle’s barrel snug against his jaw and his wielding arm twisted forcefully away from them. He gave a short cry of surprise, realizing who he fucked with, who he shouldn’t have fucked with. Verona hummed with interest at his change in expression, from this bitch’ll never know what hit her to dear God maybe I should’ve become a respectable human in the matter of seconds. The thought intrigued her, but this wasn’t a psychological examination, but possibly an anatomical one by the look of this man’s brains suddenly sprayed about the streets.

“Oh, finger slipped….” Verona murmured halfheartedly. How messy; it was going to be such a bitch to clean this up before anyone of authority noticed--

“God damn sister, you alright?” 

A shadow slipped out from the crevices of the town and ambled to the scene. Verona holstered her weapon, making a mental note to clean it thoroughly as the thought of it being in contact with such a lowlife made her ashamed to carry it. “Hmm? Oh, yes. I’m fine.” Verona crossed her arms flippantly as the man, no, ghoul, examined the body before them. “He was trying to mug me, tried his damndest if I do say so.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

“Finn was a dumbass; if you hadn’t a killed him, I would’a.” Verona’s eyes narrowed slightly as his statement seemed to ring true. As he was bent over Finn, she saw this stranger in one of the oddest get-ups since waking up on the wrong side of the apocalypse tuck away a small knife by his side, under his red duster jacket. Jesus, how barbaric are they here? “Ah, shit. Where’re my manners?” He rose from his knelt position and held out a calloused hand. “The name’s Hancock. I run this little soiree we call Goodneighbor.”

Verona took his hand in hers and shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you, mayor. I’m Verona, your fairly local scavver. No fancy titles here,” she held out her hands as if to say, test me anyway, you saw Finn. Hancock chuckled and rested his hands on his hips, unapologetically dragging his coal-black eyes up and down Verona, seemingly truly seeing her for the first time. She wasn’t sure if he was checking her out, confused by the lack of physical experience about her, or intrigued by her blue vault suit covered with scraps of leather armor peeled off of dead foes.

“Goodneighbor don’t require any fancy titles, just puke in the garbage can and try not to shoot everyone who looks at ya funny.” Hancock flashed a grin before his face became something more thoughtful. “Speakin’ of, Fahrenheit ain’t gonna be too happy about cleanin’ this mess up,” Verona was about to counter that she was fully capable of picking up after herself when Hancock waved his hand and began walking away. “I still owe her 100 caps since she was actually able to tame a radroach, so I guess this is payback. Hotel Rexford’s cheap,” he stated after a short pause, turning back toward Verona and pointing to the respective illuminated sign not too far down the road. He then jerked his head in another direction, “so’s the drinks at the Third Rail. Stop by anytime. And don’t go around thinkin’ you’re tough shit, killer. Remember who owns the joint.” With a wink, Hancock turned back on his heels and disappeared, likely to find a solution to the blood seeping into his streets.

-♡-

“Cheers.” Verona hitched back her head to consume the fiery liquid in one fell swoop.  
Hancock had grumbled, impressed, murmuring something about I like a woman who can handle her irradiated whiskey, but Verona knew as well as the next one that was the double-edged sword of post-war alcohol. Strong, but tasted like a power plant. If you didn’t want to waste an overpriced shot by drinking it slow then immediately spitting it out, you gotta swallow in one go. 

“I’m just trying to get work around here, mayor. Charlie claims I’m too weak to finish this specific job m’self.” Verona was particularly tipsy, more than she sought to be when she entered the smoky bar a couple of hours ago. In a new town, one where she was threatened within 5 minutes of walking in, she thought she’d have a bit more caution. However, 4 double shots later, Verona was suddenly very conscious of her lack of previous awareness. Hancock gave her a bemused glance, then a noticeably more threatening one for Charlie.

“Ya let a first-timer get this fucked up, eh Charlie? C’mon, you want us to lose our upstandin’ reputation? Doll,” he looked back at Verona, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in her current state and setting, and nudged her off her stool. ”Let’s talk about this secret mission tomorrow, when you’re slightly more coherent. Should’a said no when I offered you a shot, I ain’t out here to prey on the weak.” He smiled sincerely and began herding Verona like a sick brahmin to the bar’s exit, but not without tossing a couple handfuls of caps Charlie’s way and rolling a Mentat in his mouth before crushing it with his teeth.

“I got caps; you don’t need to take care of me,” Verona growled murkily, now mostly frustrated in allowing herself to become as inebriated as she had. She began stomping in what direction she thought Hotel Rexford was in, but Hancock silently glided from behind her and steered her gently in the opposite direction. 

Even through the thick, syrupy fog of drunkenness of which Verona was consistently now attempting to break through, she could sense Hancock’s chivalrous pleasure at having to care for such an odd woman, whom had just blown his citizen’s head off earlier that day and now didn’t look as if she knew which way was up. “I’m doin’ fine for caps; take it as payment for wipin’ the floor with Finn.”

He simply beamed walking her into the Rexford, past the woman behind the front desk with a mere salute and to the nearest empty room, where he sat her at the edge of the bed. “You’re safe here; you ain’t gotta sleep with one eye opened, not that I’d imagine you’re capable of that now, huh?” His laugh sounded rough as he walked towards the doorway. Verona crawled into the unkempt bed and murmured a thank you as he waved goodnight then backed out of the room. Verona was unconscious in seconds. Her last thought was of black eyes that wavered under the facade of cigarette smoke and a Mentats high.


End file.
